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“To be honest with you, it was a rough year in general. I had a cancer scare, my partner I was seeing broke up with me because she was seeing somebody else, although how she found time for that I’ll never know as she was married to the job. Real power bitch, well shot of her. Her nightmare nephew wouldn’t stop sending me nuisance emails either…” the besuited moron opposite lowered his voice and whispered conspiratively behind his hand, “not quite all there, if you know what I mean”.
Bernie’s hands subconsciously clenched into fists in her lap as her intensely honed diagnostic skills correctly pin-pointed the identity of the sycophantic bore who had been basking in the tepid glow of his own incompetence for the past twenty minutes as he ignored any of her more technical questions and leafed patronisingly through a collection of second-hand car brochures.
Utter wanker.
It had been a whim that had led her out of town on a scorching Bank Holiday weekend to purchase a new car now that she had returned permanently to Holby after her post in Nairobi. A quick internet search had led her to a newly-constructed ghost town of an industrial site to the city’s south, filled with hundreds of empty or partially-constructed units that were yet to be graced with the presence of human civilisation. ‘Roosters Garage and Second-hand Car Dealership’ was the only sign of life for miles within the sea of glittering chrome and glass.
Serena, for her part had professed airily over breakfast that morning that she cared little about cars as long as they didn’t break down and managed to transport her reliably from A to B in relative comfort. She had instead opted to drop Bernie at the garage and disappear for an afternoon of nursery-decorating with an excited Jason and Greta.
“… but then a near death experience does tend to put a little perspective on things, doesn’t it? So, after a few months to regroup, I started my blog “Turbo Man” and went after a new job!” Robbie chuckled smugly and leant back in his chair, exposing a growing middle-aged spread that was barely restrained by the gaping buttons on his cheap polyester shirt. “Turned out there was life in the old dog yet!”
The nonchalant manoeuvre no doubt lost some of its dazzling sexual potency by the fact that the beleaguered office chair chose that precise moment to shed a wheel and violently pitch the car salesman backwards into a stand of glossy brochures.
A stream of muffled swearing was thankfully masked by the technical specifications of a red Alfa Romeo 124 Spider.
“Well, you just have to follow your dream in life, don’t you?” Bernie barely suppressed a honk of laughter as she leant forward and squinted at the triangular sign which was perched next to a half-drunk mug of stale coffee. “All the way to the dizzying heights of Assistant Deputy Under Manager of Showroom C (sales).”
“Well, absolutely!” Robbie smirked triumphantly as he picked himself up off the floor and straightened his tie, the pompous smile sliding off his face faster than a dropped ice cream cornet on a hot pavement as the sarcastic note in Bernie’s voice was eventually registered.
“Shall we?” Bernie’s eyes lit up mischievously as she rose to her feet and dangled the key fob tauntingly in front of his pudgy face. “Come on Robbie, let’s see what she’s made of.” And with that, the ex-soldier turned briskly upon her heel and marched swiftly towards the forecourt with the hapless man trailing in her wake.
The lights flashed invitingly on the Black Edition Mercedes SLK as before Bernie slid athletically into the driver’s seat and swiftly buckled her seatbelt. She reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror and allowed herself an evil grin whilst her travel companion wrestled with his seatbelt.
“Makeup all still in place?” Robbie’s attempt at a joke died on his lips as Bernie merely raised a scathing eyebrow in reply. He cleared his throat and consulted the technical statistics on a clipboard in front of him.
“Ok, so this model is actually pretty powerful. 0-60mph in oh shit!” his baritone voice soon reached the nervous yelp of a castrati as the tuned AMG engine started with the enraged snarl of a bear awoken early from its hibernation.
Tired of Robbie’s waffling, Bernie threw the car into gear, barrelling rapidly towards the end of the industrial compound with the assisted power of four hundred and sixteen automated horses who were being schooled into movement by her right foot being mashed firmly onto the accelerator.
A faint whimpering came from her left as she swung the wheel to the right and locked the front tyres into a squeal, missing the steel fencing by sheer millimetres.
“Hmmm. 0-60mph in about 4 seconds, give or take. Impressive.” She tilted her head in consideration as she slammed on the brake pedal with enough ferocity for the cheese-encrusted, microwaved baked potato that Robbie had consumed for lunch several hours earlier to consider making a repeat appearance.
“Good brakes.” She sniffed casually, flicking a loose clump of blonde fringe from in front of her eyes and began revving the engine until the needle was juddering nervously above the red-filled region of the gauge. “Now, what about a little fun?”
Robert Medcalf was now gibbering quietly to himself in silent prayer to any listening automotive deity whilst clutching onto the sides of the leather seats in a white-knuckled death grip.
Bernie released the brakes and dropped the steering wheel onto full-lock with a whoop of adrenaline.
“They call this move the ‘spin-dryer’ in my old regiment!” she bellowed with a look of glee at the broken man beside her who was now clawing at the metallic door handle in a distinctly flawed attempt at escape. “Much harder to do this in a utility transport vehicle, but we managed!”
The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the little sportscar started spinning violently in ever decreasing circles; dark circles of disintegrating tyre being etched indelibly into the sea of grey concrete.
“Stop! Stop this car at once!” A distinctly green-faced Robbie had regained enough composure to attempt to shout above the deafening din of squealing tyres. “Stop!”
Bernie shrugged and lifted her foot from the accelerator until the vehicle slowed to a stop.
A frantic fumbling from her left saw the dishevelled man all but fall from the vehicle and promptly vomit into his lap.
A shadow fell across his prone form as the tall woman stood over him.
“OK, listen Medcalf. I did not come here today to hear the pathetic snivelling of some self-appointed Z-list Jeremy Clarkson enthusiast who was expelled from the police force after a severely misjudged drunken incident at the Wyvern County Police Dinner with a sniffer dog, a bowl of biryani and the Chief Commissioner’s Chanel handbag. And as for spreading lies about Serena Campbell and Jason Haynes?”
She crouched slightly and lowered her face in line with Robbie’s trembling, sweat-soaked pores. He swallowed tightly beneath the weight of the crushing gaze that he was being fixed with.
“Sadly the Hippocratic oath prevents me from inflicting grievous bodily harm, even towards members of the tuber genus, but please, stay away from them. They are both so much better off without you.”
And with that, she patted him lightly on the shoulder and dropped the keys onto the tarmac in front of him before setting off across the deserted compound towards the customer carpark where a pale Volkswagen saloon had just arrived to collect her.
“Find what you were looking for darling?” Serena Campbell placed a warm kiss upon her lips in greeting as Bernie slid into the passenger seat.
“Not quite.” Bernie shrugged casually as she settled comfortably into the seat and they set off on the deserted road towards Lenton without a backward glance. “I much prefer the newer model.” She turned sideways and beamed appreciatively at her partner, sneaking her hand into Serena’s as she drove.